climbing aboard car no. 13—ominously labelled “mt. moriah”—i voyaged toward west philadelphia. it was a keen day, the first snow of winter had fallen, and sparkling gushes of chill swept inward every time the side doors opened. the conductor, who gets the full benefit of this ventilation, was feeling cynical, and seeing his blue hands i didn't blame him. long lines of ladies, fumbling with their little bags and waiting for change, stepped off one by one into the windy eddies of the street corners. one came up to pay her fare ten blocks or so before her destination, and then retired to her seat again. this puzzled the conductor and he rebuked her. the argument grew busy. to the amazement of the passengers this richly dressed female brandished lusty epithets. “you irish[pg 155] mick!” she said. (one would not have believed it possible if he had not heard it.) “that's what i am, and proud of it,” said he. the shopping solstice is not all fur coats and pink cheeks. if you watch the conductors in the blizzard season, and see the slings and arrows they have to bear, you will coin a new maxim. the conductor is always right.
it is always entertaining to move for a little in a college atmosphere. i stopped at college hall at the university and seriously contemplated slipping in to a lecture. the hallways were crowded with earnest youths of both sexes—i was a bit surprised at the number of co-eds, particularly the number with red hair—discussing the tribulations of their lot. “think of it,” said one man, “i'm a senior, and carrying twenty-three hours. got a thesis to do, 20,000 words.” on a bulletin board i observed the results of a “general intelligence exam.” it appears that 1,770 students took part. they were listed by numbers, not by names. it was not stated what the perfect mark would have been; the highest grade attained was 159, by mr. (or miss?) 735. the lowest mark was 23. i saw that both 440 and 1124 got the mark of 149. if these gentlemen (or ladies) are eager to play off the tie, it would be a pleasure to arrange a deciding competition for them. the elaborate care with which the boys and girls ignore one another as they pass in the halls was highly delightful, and reminded me of exactly the same[pg 156] thing at oxford. but i saw the possible beginning of true romance in the following notice on one of the boards:
wanted: names and addresses of ten nice american university students who must remain in philadelphia over christmas, away from home, to be invited to a christmas eve party to help entertain some bryn mawr college girls in one of the nicest homes in a suburb of philadelphia.
certainly there is the stage set for a short story. perhaps not such a short one, either.
naturally i could not resist a visit to the library, where most of the readers seemed wholly absorbed, though one student was gaping forlornly over a volume of tennyson. i found an intensely amusing book, “who's who in japan,” a copy of which would be a valuable standby to a newspaper paragrapher in his bad moments. for instance:
sasaki, tetsutaro: one of the highest taxpayers of fukushima-ken, president of the hongu reeling partnership, director of the dai nippon radium water co.; brewer, reeler; born aug., 1860.
sakurai, ichisaku: member of the niigata city council; director of the niigata gas co., niigata savings bank. born june, 1872, studied japanese and chinese classics and arithmetic. at present also he connects with the niigata orphanage and various other philanthropic bodies. was imprisoned by acting contrary to the act of explosive compound for seven years. recreations: reading, western wine.
[pg 157]
relying on my apparent similarity to the average undergrad, i plunged into the sancta of houston hall and bought a copy of the punch bowl. what that sprightly journal calls “a little group of syria's thinkers” was shooting pool. the big fireplaces, like most fireplaces in american colleges, don't seem to be used. they don't even show any traces of ever having been used, a curious contrast to the always blazing hearths of english colleges. the latter, however, are more necessary, as in england there is usually no other source of warmth. a bitter skirmish of winds, carrying powdered snow dust, nipped round the gateways of the dormitories and tait mckenzie's fine statue of whitefield stood sharply outlined against a cold blue sky. i lunched at a varsity hash counter on spruce street and bought tobacco in a varsity drug store, where a new york tailor, over for the day, was cajoling students into buying his “snappy styles” in time for christmas. there is no more interesting game than watching a lot of college men, trying to pick out those who may be of some value to the community in future—the scientists, poets, and teachers of the next generation. the well-dressed youths one sees in the varsity drug stores are not generally of this type.
the evans school of dentistry at fortieth and spruce is a surprising place. its grotesque gargoyles, showing (with true medieval humour) the sufferings of tooth patients, are the first thing one[pg 158] notices. then one finds the museum, in which is housed doctor thomas w. evans's collection of paintings and curios brought back from france. unfortunately there seems to be no catalogue of the items, so that there is no way of knowing what interesting associations belong to them. but most surprising of all is to find the travelling carriage of the empress eugenie in which she fled from france in the fatal september days of 1870. she spent her last night in france at the home of doctor evans, and there is a spirited painting by dupray showing her leaving his house the next morning, ushered into the carriage by the courtly doctor. the old black barouche, or whatever one calls it, seems in perfect condition still, with the empress's monogram on the door panel. only the other day we read in the papers that the remarkable old lady (now in her ninety-fourth year) has been walking about paris, revisiting well-known scenes. how it would surprise her to see her carriage again here in this university building in west philadelphia. the whole museum is delightfully french in flavour; as soon as one enters one seems to step back into the curiously bizarre and tragic extravagance of the second empire.
one passes into the dignified and placid residence section of spruce and pine streets, with its distinctly academic air. behind those quiet walls one suspects bookcases and studious professors and all the de[pg 159]lightful passions of the mind. on baltimore avenue the wintry sun shone white and cold; in clark park, charles dickens wore a little cap of snow, and little nell looked more pathetic than ever. there is a breath of mystery about baltimore avenue. what does that large sign mean, in front of a house near clark park—the eastern travellers? then one comes to the famous shop of s. f. hiram, the dodoneaean shoemaker he calls himself. this wise coloured man has learned the advertising advantages of the unusual. his placard reads:
originator of that famous dobrupolyi system of repairing.
when one enters and asks to know more about this system, he points to another placard, which says:
it assumes the nature and character of an appellative noun, and carries the article the system.
his shop contains odd curios as well as the usual traffic of a cobbler. “the public loves to be hood-winked,” he adds sagely.
